


this [im]possible year

by alexanger



Series: a hell of a feeling [5]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: M/M, everything is gay and nothing hurts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-01
Updated: 2017-05-01
Packaged: 2018-10-26 04:10:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10779294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alexanger/pseuds/alexanger
Summary: thomas and james work out their feelings.





	this [im]possible year

James awakens to the sound of a door slamming. He groans softly, stretching his legs out. It’s excruciating - why do his legs hurt so much? Why is he slumped in a corner? There’s hardwood beneath him and he’s huddled under a pile of Thomas’s t shirts -

The plant. The dead plant. He’s in the closet and he doesn’t deserve to be anywhere other than deep in the ground in a wooden box.

“Jemmy?” he hears, as if from miles away. He doesn’t respond and the call comes again, this time more panicked: “Jemmy?!”

Another door slams, and then there’s the sound of drawers opening and shutting in the kitchen. The bedroom door creaks. Footsteps, pounding into the bathroom. The squeak of the medicine cabinet grinding open, slamming closed.

“Fuck,” Thomas says. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

“Thomas,” James croaks. He clears his throat and tries again but his voice won’t carry far enough, so he kicks his foot against the closet door instead.

“Jemmy?” Thomas asks.

“In here,” says James. He kicks again.

The closet door opens and the light is incapacitating. He shields his eyes and squints and before he processes what’s happening, Thomas has gathered him into his arms.

“Oh, my God,” Thomas breathes. “I was so worried, I couldn’t find you - I thought you’d done something but your meds were all there and so were the knives -”

“I thought about it,” James says. “That hurts, Thomas -”

“Sorry, sorry, I should have asked - fuck, I was so worried, Jemmy, please don’t ever scare me like that again.” He helps James wriggle into a more comfortable position.

“Why are you so upset? It’s not like I’m anything more than an annoyance,” James snaps.

“Who told you that?” Thomas is crying openly now, tears cascading down his cheeks. “I don’t know what I’d do without you, Jemmy, I’d be so lost.”

“I’m a bad friend. I don’t know why you care at all,” says James.

“I’m so in love with you, Jem, please don’t go anywhere, I don’t know how I’d manage without you -”

James stiffens. Thomas’s expression slowly morphs from desperation to shock, to embarrassment, to resignation.

“I wasn’t going to say anything,” he says.

“Oh,” says James.

“Look, I know it’s a lot,” Thomas says. He seems to be rushing through his words. “I wasn’t going to tell you because I know things are really shitty right now, and I didn’t want to freak you out, and I don’t even know if you feel anything like that for me, and even if you do feel the same way, changing shit up would probably be really stressful, and I didn’t want to make you feel like you had to handle my feelings or make you feel bad or anything -”

“Oh,” says James.

“So pretend I didn’t say that, okay? Can we just pretend that didn’t happen?”

“What if I feel the same way, though?” James asks.

“That’s not funny,” says Thomas.

“I know it’s not funny. I’m serious.”

Thomas takes a moment to gather his thoughts, and then replies, very eloquently, “well, fuck.”

“So are we like -” James swallows. “Are we going to do this, or -?”

“I don’t think this is something we should do anything about right now,” Thomas says. “Like - oh, jeez, I can’t believe what you’re telling me, I can’t even believe I’m gonna say this, but we can’t right now. It’s not gonna be good for either of us. Okay? Can we just make sure you're okay? I’m so scared that if we change our relationship, something will go wrong, and then you won’t want me helping you, and I need you to be okay. I  _ need  _ you to stay with me. Let’s just get you there.”

James doesn’t say anything.

“Okay?” Thomas prompts.

“Okay,” James mutters.

“I know you’re not happy about it - but fuck, Jemmy, I’m just so glad you’re alive and that’s all I can really handle right now.” Thomas presses his forehead to James’s and rests there for a moment. “Thank you for being alive.”

“I wanted to say goodbye, at least,” James mumbles.

“Let’s wait on the goodbye. Okay? Let’s just get some dinner in you. I’ll massage your legs - you seem really stiff. And then I can take care of Little Prick.”

“Just throw it away.”

“Jemmy,” says Thomas. “I’m gonna try and save him. Okay?”

“Say okay one more time,” says James, and Thomas laughs, a deep, throaty laugh that thrums in his chest.

“Okay,” he says. “We’re okay.”

James believes him.

 

* * *

 

Thomas takes Little Prick outside onto the tiny shelf that passes as a balcony.

“Just throw it away,” James says, but Thomas makes a face.

“No,” he says. “I’m gonna try and save him. He’s my son too, you know.”

“Okay, but I don’t want to see it,” says James.

“You won’t,” Thomas promises.

The next day he comes home with a flat of little seedlings. He sets it down on the kitchen counter and points at each one, naming them. “Cherry tomatoes - those are the little baby tomatoes, good for snacks - cucumbers, peas, and strawberries. I’m gonna grow ‘em on the balcony.”

“You won’t have room,” James says.

“I’m gonna hang the tomatoes upside down and trellis everything else. It’ll work out, you’ll see.”

Thomas tends to the plants every single day, pruning, watering, and weeding religiously. The tomatoes grow like weeds but the cucumbers die and Thomas is inconsolable for days. James is impatient at first - until he remembers his own despair over the loss of Little Prick. It doesn’t take too long for him to start comforting Thomas instead of rolling his eyes at him.

“I understand,” he tells Thomas, and he peppers kisses across his cheeks.

Thomas doesn’t stop him. He just hums, mutters a couple of lines of a new rap under his breath, and closes his eyes.

 

* * *

 

The first crop of strawberries comes in and Thomas feeds James one, lets his fingertips linger on his lower lip for just a moment too long. James considers sticking his tongue out and licking at them - whether to piss Thomas off or to entice him, he isn’t sure.

“Sweet,” says James. The berry feels weighty on his tongue. Ambrosia. The sugar is heady and overwhelming.

“Sweet,” Thomas agrees. “Have another.”

James looks into Thomas’s eyes and accepts another and he’s gone, lost, swept away by the deep brown of his eyes and by the sweetness spreading on his tongue.

“I love you,” he says. Thomas looks away - but there was that moment of eye contact, so rare and so cherished.

“Yeah,” he says, “me too, buddy.”

The  _ buddy  _ is pronounced and deliberate.

The sweetness fades.

 

* * *

 

 

There comes a day when James finally says to Thomas, “I think I can do therapy alone today.”

It’s not so much that he doesn’t want support while he works through his bullshit - he does. But he needs to talk about Thomas, needs to talk about the push and pull between them. He needs space to vent about the ache and the distance and the feeling of being lost and desperate and alone.

“It’s like he’s not as  _ here  _ as he was,” he says to his psychologist. “Like, ever since he told me how he feels -”

“Which is how, exactly?” she asks him.

“He likes me.” James pauses and then corrects himself. “I mean, he said he loves me. I don’t know how long he’s felt that way. I thought he was straight but whatever - that’s not really the important part, right?”

“Mmm,” the psychologist hums.

“You have the same name as his ex,” James says. He props his chin on his hand and sinks down in his chair. “It’s kinda weird, no offense or whatever.”

“None taken,” says Martha. “You could call me by my last name, you know. I know Dr Washington sounds formal, but whatever makes you most comfortable. Some patients prefer to give me a nickname.”

“Nah, it’s fine. I’ll deal,” says James. “So like - we sleep together, you know?”

“Do you mean you have intercourse?” Martha asks. “Or you share a bed when you’re sleeping?”

James feels his face go hot with embarrassment and drops his gaze to where his fingers are twisting against each other. “Uh. We sleep in the same bed. Nothing else.”

“Sex can often complicate already complicated situations. It might not be a bad thing that it isn’t happening.”

“See, that’s the thing, though,” says James. “I can tell a lot about what he’s thinking. We’ve known each other for, like, twenty years. Shit - longer than that. And you get to know someone pretty well when you’re friends for two decades, right? So I can usually tell what’s going on in his head, and I’m pretty sure he wants me. Like, I can -” He cuts himself off, jiggles his leg for a moment, and then says, “he gives me massages. He helps me shower sometimes when I can’t manage alone. He’s carried me when I can’t get to - to the bathroom by myself, or - he sees me all these ways that only someone I’m married to should want to see. Like, he helps me with everything and it’s not even a big deal to be naked around him now and sometimes his face -” He cuts himself off and makes a vague gesture with one hand.

“There’s a lot of intimacy there.”

“Yeah.” James swallows. “I see the way he looks at me.”

Martha hums. “Does it make you uncomfortable?”

“No. I like it. It’s like … if he can look at me like that even when I haven’t showered in a week and I’ve been wearing the same underwear for three days and I smell like a fucking barn, then it must mean he really wants me. Right?”

“I’m not in his head,” Martha says. “I don’t know. But it seems like you know exactly what’s going on. Have you spoken to him about these things?”

“He said he doesn’t want to change our relationship,” James mumbles.

“Then unfortunately there isn’t much you can do about this. Let’s work on distress tolerance today,” she tells him. 

It’s not good enough, but it’s something, at least, and by the time his hour is up, it’s a little easier to lean on Thomas on the way home.

They detour to stop at James’s pharmacy for his new meds. “They aren’t antidepressants,” James explains. “They’re antipsychotics, but apparently they can work for depression. Sometimes.”

“But you don’t have psychosis,” Thomas says.

“Yeah. I don’t have seizures either but I’m on anti-seizure drugs. My psychiatrist says it does magic with your moods or whatever,” James tells him.

“Well, if it works, it works,” says Thomas. “Let’s use the red card again.”

The red card is Thomas’s Visa. James pretends not to see THOMAS JEFFERSON stamped on the front whenever he hands it to a cashier; Thomas pretends the Visa belongs in James’s wallet.

That night, he takes the first of the tiny green tablets after dinner.

He’s given up hoping that medication will work, but he can’t help the little surge of excitement he feels as he swallows.

 

* * *

 

“I didn’t know you were into guys,” James says idly as he lays on the sofa, his head on Thomas’s lap. “Like, any time you talk about dating, you only talk about girls.”

“Gender is fake. I don’t understand it,” says Thomas.

“What do you mean?”

“Like -” Thomas pauses, clearly struggling with words, and then says, “I just don’t get it. Like, first of all, why is it a thing? Can I just opt out of gender?”

“Actually, yeah,” says James. “But keep going. I wanna hear the rest.”

“Oh. Well - okay, like, why only be attracted to one gender? There’s so many people and they’re all different so it’s not like restricting yourself to only girls or whatever does anyone any good.”

“But you’ve only ever dated girls. Like, you’ve never talked about dating a guy or someone who’s nonbinary.” James glances up; Thomas won’t meet his eyes, which isn’t unusual, but he’s chewing his lips, which is one of his anxious stims.

“Yeah,” he says. “Uh. I mean, it’s super recently that I figured out that I like dudes too?”

“How recent?”

“Jemmy -”

“If you’re not using a nickname it’s too serious. Chill, Thomas,” says James. “It’s me. You can tell me anything.”

Thomas laughs. “Okay, Jukebox. Uh, well, you know I’m not super good at figuring out feelings -”

“Really bad at it,” James offers.

“Shut up, Jockey. Anyway, it took me, like, a billion years to figure out that I liked you. Um. And still do. But -”

“That’s gay,” James says.

Thomas puts a hand on his face. “Stop looking at me. You know it weirds me out, Jojoba.”

“Sorry. Eyes closed. Continue.” He flutters his eyelashes against Thomas’s palm.

“So maybe like … a couple months before I got up here, I realized I was looking at dudes. You know, like,  _ really  _ looking. And I kind of wondered why I never noticed how pretty some guys are before.”

“But you never dated any.”

Thomas shrugs. “I was comparing them all to you.”

“And you noticed they’re all better in every conceivable way,” James suggests.

“Nah,” says Thomas. “None of them measured up.”

James rolls and presses his face against Thomas’s stomach. “I want to do this with you,” he mumbles.

“I know,” Thomas says, “but wait a little bit. Please.”

“Are you scared?” James asks.

Thomas is quiet. Time stretches into forever with just the slow rhythm of his breathing to break the silence.

“Terrified,” he says at last.

 

* * *

 

One day Jem turns around to catch Thomas crying.

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

Thomas shakes his head and scrubs the tears away with the heels of his hands. “You laughed at my joke,” he says.

“‘Cause it was funny,” James says.

“When’s the last time you laughed like that?” Thomas asks.

“I dunno - a while?”

“I haven’t heard you laugh like that for a couple of years,” Thomas says, and he pulls James into his arms. “I’m so glad to hear you laughing again.”

James leans into the embrace and lets himself go limp. “Shit. I guess you’re right.”

Thomas kisses the top of his head, and James breathes in the scents he loves - grape e-cig vapour, apple mango tango detergent, that scent that’s just  _ Thomas, _ the one he can’t describe - and closes his eyes, content.

 

* * *

 

“My meds are working.” James kicks one heel against the leg of his chair. “And it’s, you know, it’s helping the pain, too. I’m still in pain all the time but, like, less. Guess being less stressed helps with that.”

“It does,” Martha agrees.

“You know, he’s still looking at me the same way, but he doesn’t look as hungry anymore. Do you think maybe he doesn’t like me? Or likes me less?”

“You talk a lot about him,” says Martha, “and not a lot about you. How are your mood swings?”

James shrugs. “Fine.”

“What about your anxiety?”

“Fine. Still happening but I can manage it.”

“What helps you deal with it?”

James sighs. “Thomas. Everything comes back to him.” He pauses, then adds, “I was never this obsessed. I mean, like, I’ve always loved him - shit, he’s the  _ reason _ I knew I was gay. He was the first person I came out as trans to. He was there for me all through school when no one else would hang out with me. I didn’t have anyone who actually wanted to spend time with me ‘cause I was always in and out of the hospital and I just wasn’t there to make any friends. And he was just … super popular. Like, you know how a lot of autistic kids get treated like shit? He didn’t get that. He was always really popular even when he didn’t have any idea how to talk to people.”

“Why do you think that is?”

“He’s charismatic,” says James. “Talks about himself a lot but he’s  _ interesting  _ when he does it.”

“And you don’t mind it?”

“He’s his own favourite subject. Narcissistic as fuck. But I just love hearing him talk,” says James.

“So why the ramped up obsession now?” Martha asks.

James is silent for a while. He kicks his heel against his chair again, a slow, steady thudding. “I guess because I know he feels the same way, and I don’t know why he doesn’t just … go for it.”

“It sounds to me like there’s some dissonance there that needs to be worked through before he can act on his feelings.”

“He told me he’s scared.”

“Ask him what of,” says Martha. “There’s nothing to lose, is there?”

 

* * *

 

James sits on the tiny deck, nursing a smoothie, while Thomas carefully prunes his tomatoes. “They work better if all the leaves are coming from the main stem,” he explains. “Look! Little budding bits! I think they’re gonna start growing tomatoes soon!”

“Cute,” says James.

“And the peas are doing so well - look at ‘em! We’re gonna have some good shit growing out here this summer.”

“What are you scared of?” James asks suddenly.

Thomas pauses. “I don’t understand the context,” he says. “Like, in general? Or are you thinking of a specific situation?”

“With me,” James says. “Dating me. Being with me.”

“Oh.”

“We’re already practically together - you moved in with me, we share a bed. Every morning I can feel -”

Thomas pulls a face. “Please don’t tell me you’re about to talk about my morning wood or whatever.”

“Okay, fine, I won’t. But like. You see me naked all the time, I hang out with you while you shower, we know everything about each other - what’s the big deal? What’s even going to change?”

“I’ve never been in a relationship with someone I actually love,” Thomas says. “It’s new. You know how I feel about new things.”

“Nothing would change,” James insists.

“Jemmy - please give me time. You know I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t have to. Please stop pushing me.”

“Okay,” says James.

“Look at this mint plant,” Thomas says. “It’s way happier since we brought it out of your room.”

James lets the subject change. It’s fine.

 

* * *

 

Thomas turns the TV on and turns the volume down all the way.

“Thanks,” says James.

“No problem,” Thomas says. “Wanna do the voices ourselves or just read the subtitles?”

“Just subtitles,” James says. “But I’m cool with talking if you wanna talk. Whatever you want.”

Thomas just shrugs, so James lays down, half on him, half on the sofa. Thomas’s hand finds its way to James’s head and absently rubs at his scalp. James practically purrs.

“So if we were to do - you know - if we, if we, with our feelings,” Thomas starts. His voice is husky. “If we did it -”

“If we dated?” James asks.

“Yeah.” Thomas swallows. “What would it be like?”

James rolls so that he’s facing up to look at Thomas and is struck by how similar this is to the last time they really spoke in depth about feelings. “Look, that’s super important, but I need to point out this is exactly how we were when you told me you aren’t straight,” James says.

“I vote we do all our serious talks this way,” says Thomas.

“Good. Approved. Anyway, I don’t think much would change.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” says James. “What, like, maybe we kiss sometimes. Maybe we don’t. Maybe we have sex. But I’d have to be super careful with that - like, you fuck me in the ass and I could die.”

“If I  _ look _ at you wrong, you could die. But okay, no butt fucking. Kissing is still a pretty big difference.”

“You’ve kissed people before,” James says.

“Yeah. But not you.”

James struggles to a sitting position, then straddles Thomas’s lap and puts one hand on his face. “Can I kiss you?” he asks.

“This seems like a relationship thing,” Thomas says warily.

“Friends kiss sometimes. But if you don’t want me to, I won’t. Do you want me to move?”

Thomas licks his lips. “I want you to kiss me,” he says.

So James leans in and presses his lips against Thomas’s and the world - well, the world doesn’t stop. It doesn’t end. It does go a little softer, though, a little fuzzy and blue around the edges, a little sweeter where their lips touch. Thomas has gone softer too, soft lips, soft sighs, and his beard is scratchy and rough against James’s face and he laughs into the kiss and Thomas pulls away.

“Sorry,” he says.

“No,” says James. “Your beard -”

Thomas smiles and it’s achingly sweet. “I can shave it for you.”

“No, I like it. Kiss me?”

So Thomas leans forward and kisses him, and his hands find their way to settle on James’s hips. There’s no urgency, just softness and rounded edges and slow, fluid motions. They settle together like they’re finally fitting into place.

It’s James who pulls back first. “So,” he says. “Now nothing would change. Just a title. Maybe sex.”

James can feel that Thomas is hard. Neither of them mention it. There’s no need to.

“Okay,” says Thomas. “Wanna watch the show with me?”

James slides back onto the couch and cuddles up under Thomas’s arm.

“I love you,” James says.

Thomas kisses the top of his head.

 

* * *

  
  


They wake up together on a hot summer day, sweaty and far too warm, neither of them willing to move away.

“I’m ready,” Thomas says.

“Ready?” mumbles James.

“Yeah,” says Thomas. “For us.”

“Us what?”

Thomas huffs impatiently. “For  _ us, _ Jellybean.”

James sits upright. “Like, for dating?”

“That’s what I said.”

James puts his hand on Thomas’s chest. Thomas’s heart is thundering so fast James is worried it might tear through the thin fabric of his purple t-shirt. “Breathe, TJ,” he says. “What are you afraid of?”

“Everything,” says Thomas. “But I’m safe with you so being scared is okay.”

“I love you,” says James.

“I love you,” Thomas echoes.

James leans down and whispers, “do you want to kiss me?”

And Thomas darts forward to catch his lips, pulls him down, kisses him hard and makes tiny noises that are so  _ fucking  _ attractive and James can’t help bucking his hips a little. He’s close enough that he can feel that Thomas wants him too -

Thomas breaks away and says, “this is as far as I want to go for a while.”

“Fine with me,” James says. “I have hands. I can take care of myself.”

Thomas laughs. “Shit, you’re right. How did I never notice before?”

“Since when do you do sarcasm?” He puts his head on Thomas’s chest and says, “what if we just spend the day doing gay shit like cuddling?”

“You mean like literally every other day of our lives?”

“I thought you liked routine.”

Thomas grins. “You caught me. I’ll make you breakfast and then we can snuggle on the sofa before your doctor’s appointment. I have a surprise for you first, though.”

Thomas gets up and stumbles to the bathroom to splash some water on his face while James struggles out of bed. “What kind of surprise?” James asks.

“Wait, like, two minutes and see,” says Thomas.

He leads James to the living room. “What is it?” James asks again, but Thomas shakes his head.

“Sit,” he says. James obediently perches on the sofa. “Close your eyes. It’ll only be a second.”

James shuts his eyes. There’s the sound of the sliding glass door, the one to the balcony, opening, and then a breeze, just cool enough that he feels a little less cranky over the heat. Thomas leaves the door open - there’s no sound of it sliding shut, no absence of breeze - much to James’s delight.

“Open,” Thomas says.

He’s holding Little Prick, but the Little Prick James remembers was dead - 

James accepts the pot from Thomas. There’s still a hole in the middle where the main stalk died, but there are multitudes of little rosettes, clearly thriving. He touches a single leaf. It’s alive, tenacious, firm under his finger.

He holds it up to his face.

“Hey, little buddy,” he whispers. “Welcome back.”

**Author's Note:**

> comments and kudos make it worth getting out of bed in the morning. chat to me at [alexangery.tumblr.com](http://alexangery.tumblr.com)


End file.
